And The Snowfakes Flew
by Ziral
Summary: Everyone's inu hanyou takes a Christmas stroll down memory lane. One sho.


The flurries of snowflakes swirled as he sat, staring into the crystallized forest surrounding him. A half-forgotten memory of a night very much like this one came back to him. Closing his eyes he allowed himself to be swept backward along the stream of time.

A tiny boy no older than six years of age bounded over the snowy hilltop. The light the moon upon the new fallen snow guided him to the tree he had selected earlier that very day. From the doorway of the small home he shared with his mother, this tree was plainly visible. The bitterness of the night numbed him, dulling his senses, but at least it carried away the bite of his mother's tears. As of late, Lady Izayoi had sunk deeper, ever deeper, into depression, despite her son's best efforts. The falling snow formed a curtain around the child as he began his work. He started with three snowballs, rolling each to the appropriate size. The model for the snow sculpture was the one being that could always bring Izayoi happiness, the child's deceased father. Though the two had never met, the boy had heard tales of this magnificent being for as far back as his memory stretched. He would resurrect his father, if only for Christmas morning. When the body was assembled the small child looked about, searching for another piece of the puzzle. In the form of a thorny tangle of weeds growing beneath his mother's bedroom window the piece was found. Shredding the palms of his hands in the process, the boy struggled to remove the weeds. Ignoring the pain he continued in his endeavor, pausing every so often to look around for those who would interfere with his project. While his diminished senses were still keen enough to detect the clumsiness of human movement, they were no match for the stealthy approach of an even greater danger.

Sesshomaru glided through the snow-clad trees as quiet as death itself. Death was, in fact, the reason for his presence that night; the death of a certain child in the clearing ahead. The scent filling his sensitive nose made him pause, wondering if perhaps someone had already accomplished his goal. It took him only seconds to discern two things: 1) whatever wound his younger half-sibling had sustained it was not life threatening and 2) the boy was making something. He would never know exactly what prevented him from slaying his pathetic excuse for a brother at the very moment he laid eyes on the pup, but for some unimaginable reason Sesshomaru felt compelled to discover the child's purposes. Watching the child, Sesshomaru realized that his brother was imitating a crude likeness of the fluff that adorned his right shoulder. There was however, one crucial difference: it was formed into not one, but two segments. This particular detail struck a cord deep within his memory.

"Father," that one word managed to escape his lips as Sesshomaru continued to observe his completely oblivious brother.

Finally satisfied with the product, the young boy draped cape-like garment around his "father's" shoulders. He was about to position the head when he thought of something. He dashed toward the tiny hut and began tearing through the snow beside one of the walls. Six inches below the surface of the soil was a little clay pot. Removing the lid, he found the object of his search. A few handfuls of blueberries, perfectly preserved by the frost, lay there. Before replacing it in the earth, he removed a few of the precious berries. Ever so carefully, the boy situated the smallest snowball in his lap. He then proceeded to reduce the berries to a juicy pulp. Wincing as the juices mingled with his blood and oozed into his still open wounds, the child carefully painted the now purple liquid; forming it into the jagged stripes that once decorated his father's face. He then painstakingly fashioned the rest of his father's facial features using the utmost care. Surveying his work the child found something lacking. Drawing an old leather pouch from deep within his haori, he extracted the only two gold coins he had ever owned. He looked at them for a long time before inserting them into his father's eye sockets. He knew with absolute certainty that when the village's human children inevitably destroyed the snowman, they would steal the coins as well. The child stood, and began once again to rummage through the snow. This time he was searching for the long grasses he knew were hidden by the frozen drifts. One by one, he picked them. Seeking out only those of a specific length, he continued for nearly three quarters of an hour. Settling himself again on the frigid earth, he tied two strands of the grass together. He persisted in continuing this until every strand had been used. Only then did he begin to insert each individual strand of grass into his father's snowy scalp. In order to disguise the multitude of miniscule knots, he wrapped the "hair" with a worn leather band, effectively drawing it into his father's famous ponytail. Finally, he situated the head onto the demon's cranium upon his shoulders. The child critically examined his completed masterpiece and, finding nothing wrong with the figure, smiled tiredly. As he was turning to return to the warm shelter of his meager home, the wind suddenly changed directions. A faintly familiar smell assaulted his nearly frozen nose. What it was he wasn't sure, however, he did know he had smelled it on the previous Christmas. Because of this connection the boy's young mind jumped to the only rational conclusion: Santa! Turning into the wind he murmured a quiet plea.

"Santa, I know that you don't give gifts to grown ups," he began, "but do you think you could give Mommy mine this year? I just want her to be happy again, and if anyone can do that it's you. I'm going to bed now so I don't keep you waiting." While this nearly inaudible remark was immediately swept away by the wind, it somehow managed to find its way to a certain nighttime watcher in the nearby forest. Without waiting for a reply, or even a conformation, the youth retreated to the nearby house.

Sunlight gently warmed the woman's pale face. This sensation coaxingly lured Izayoi from her blissfully dream-free slumber. For a moment she was content to simply recline in the peace of the morning. That moment was extremely short-lived, and was immediately replaced by an acute sense of urgency. The blankets erupted as she launched herself from the comforts of her bed. Racing toward the neighboring bedroom, she flung open the matted door covering. As memories of the preceding Christmas rushed back to her with the force of the raging flood waters, panic began to set in. That morning Sesshomaru had unexpectedly appeared demanding the life of the "half-breed abomination." Izayoi had known there was no way to prevent the full-blooded dog demon from carrying out his task, but she had tried nevertheless. Thorough what could have only been a Christmas miracle; she had somehow succeeded in gaining another year in which to say goodbye. She had not even attempted to escape, having been assured that this would only prolong her son's suffering when the time came. These thoughts fueled her frenzy as Izayoi sprinted through the house shrieking her child's name. She stumbled upon him, asleep in the living room beneath their tiny excuse for a Christmas tree. Relief beyond measure filled her heart as the child sat up sleepily. It took a moment for his eyes to on his mother, but when they did, his eyes lit up with a glow that rivaled the morning sun. Without a word he grasped his mother's hand and, practically skipping all the way, led her to the door. Pushing matt aside, the two emerged into the snow. Her son frolicked about in the yard as Izayoi cautiously approached the towering snowy sentinel. She gasped as she recognized the features of her former mate, the Inu no Taisho. Turning to shield her eyes she allowed the tears of joy to flow freely. Abruptly she was brought out of her musings by her one son's unexpected outbursts. Terror gripped her heart as she spun around. For an instant her fears were lifted as the boy babbled on excitedly about Santa Clause, until her eyes focused on what he was gesturing to. Branded as if by acid into the doorframe was a single symbol: an intricate letter "S."

Nestled deep within the encompassing braches of Goshinboku, the crimson-clad hanyou opened his amber eyes. As almost inaudible sigh somehow escaped his lips. However, the darkness of the night gave no sign of having heard him and all around him the snowflakes flew.


End file.
